Losing Time
by dear-marauder
Summary: Simon goes to see Clary one last time. Companion piece to "Something in Common," Set post-series. Oneshot.


A/N: Delly asked me if I was going to write about the last time Simon went to see Clary before the events in "Something in Common." I wasn't planning to, but then I got the image of Simon pulling up to the Institute on a vampire motorcycle, and it just sort of went from there. So, yes Delly, here it is. I hadn't planned for this to be quite so depressing, but it is what it is.

* * *

It was two in the morning, and for just a moment, he wondered if it was too early. But then he remembered they were all Shadowhunters, and that time of day meant as little to them as to him. At least half of them would be awake, he was sure. He got off his motorcycle and stared at the cathedral. It never changed in his absence; every time he saw it, it was just as run-down as the previous time. It was only a glamour, he knew, but it gave him comfort to see something so steady, and so even though he should have been able to see through it, to the real façade of the Institute, he preferred to look at the glamour.

He pulled out his cell phone and sent a quick text message. Hopefully, she had hers with her, because otherwise, he'd be stuck out here until dawn. Not that it mattered – daylight couldn't hurt him anymore – but a wait that long would be boring.

He wasn't disappointed, though. A few minutes later, the gates swung open to reveal a small middle-aged woman. Her bright red hair had grey streaks in it, and her face was subtly lined. He was startled. How long had he been away this time? He hadn't thought it more than a few months – a year at most – but Clary could never have aged so much in a year. He watched her eyes flick upwards and realized he was touching the Mark of Cain. He blushed a little – even while dead, he could still do that – and lowered his hand to his side.

Clary grinned at him, then launched herself into his arms. "Simon, I've missed you. Where the hell have you been?"

"Venice. Cleveland. Minsk."

She pushed back so she could look up at him. "Minsk?"

"It's in Belaruse."

"I know where Minsk is; why were you there?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

She smiled at him again. "Come on; everyone's upstairs." He let her take his hand and guide him into the Institute, wincing as he stepped through the gates. Even though drinking Jace's blood had made him invulnerable to most vampire weaknesses, he still had an instinctive reaction against entering hallowed ground.

If Clary noticed, she didn't say anything. She just chattered about family gossip, telling him about where Isabelle was stationed, and how Alec and Magnus were back in New York, and what Charlotte was planning for her seventeenth birthday party. He couldn't remember who Charlotte was, and that made him feel a little guilty.

They were in the elevator now, and the lights in the Institute cast shadows across Clary's face making her look old. He wasn't sure how old she was, but he knew she was at least fifty.

Fifty. He supposed that would make him about fifty as well, though he didn't have an exact count on that either. It was easy to forget when you never changed physically. And if he and Clary were fifty that would make his mother –

He didn't want to think about it.

They were in the hallway now, working their way towards the kitchen. Once she tried, Clary had surprised everyone by being a fantastic cook, and even Isabelle had been glad when she'd made the kitchen her domain. He heard the cacophony of voices long before they reached the room and Simon remembered that most family gatherings happened in there now.

He hesitated on the threshold of the room. He felt, for the first time, that he was intruding. They were alive, and within time, and they knew the ins and outs of each other's daily lives, whereas he showed up once every few years, decades, whatever, and expected to be welcomed back with open arms. The fact that he was, unconditionally, made him realize how selfish he was being.

"Come on!" Clary said impatiently. "They're all waiting for you."

"You told them I was coming?" It came out as a hoarse whisper, rather than the indignant exclamation he'd intended.

"Of course. The grandkids all want to meet Uncle Simon. We won't let them associate with any other vampires, and they're dying of curiosity."

He let her pull him into the room, and for a moment, the conversation stopped. Everyone was sitting around the table, eating a mid-night supper of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and biscuits. Homemade friend chicken, Simon guessed, because there wasn't a KFC bucket to be seen. He saw Jace, Alec, and Magnus at the table, along with Clary's children (damn, they were adults now!), a few people he didn't recognize that he thought might be the kids' spouses, and a couple of children

Jace was the first to react. He stood, with a huge grin, and said, "Hey bloodsucker. Where've you been?" His once-golden hair was almost completely gray, and even though he looked completely fit – Jace would give up Shadowhunting only when he was dead or maimed beyond repair – Simon saw that he didn't move as quickly as he once had.

He pretended not to notice, and gave Jace the list of cities he'd given Clary.

"Venice," said a brown-haired woman with a wrinkle of her nose. Jace and Clary's middle daughter, Celine, he remembered. He guessed she was in her mid-thirties. "I hated Venice. It smelled like crap."

"Not breathing helps with that," he said with a grin.

A couple of children he didn't recognize stared at him with their mouths open. He guessed they were somewhere between six and ten. It was getting harder and harder to judge the ages of mortals. Then, Simon realized they must be Clary and Jace's grandchildren. The thought made him a little light-headed.

"You're really a vampire?" said a teenager who had inherited Clary's bright hair. She wasn't built anything like Clary though. When she stood, Simon could see that she was much taller. She must take after her father's side of the family, though he had no idea which of the strange men might be her father.

"He is," said Alec. "I was there when we buried him. Get in here, Lewis. You've got to catch us up on eight years."

Eight years? No, it hadn't been that long.

But then he realized it might have. He'd gone to Luke and Jocelyn's funeral a few years back, but he hadn't stuck around long after that, and he certainly hadn't taken the time to catch up on family gossip. It could have been any number of years between now and his last visit to the Institute, and he'd never have noticed.

"Actually, I'm kind of tired," he lied. "I've been on the road for hours, and I'd like to get some sleep, if you all don't mind."

"Of course," said Clary. "Your room is the same one as always."

"Thanks." He turned to go, then looked over his shoulder. "Is there somewhere to store my bike? I don't want it to be out when the sun rises."

Jace's eyes lit with interest. "You've got a new bike? What does this one do?"

"It turns into a dragon," he said, then left before Jace could figure out whether or not he was joking.

~*~

Despite what he'd said, Simon didn't sleep. His motorcycle couldn't fly, but it was certainly faster than a mortal bike, and he hadn't been on the road long at all. He'd picked it up in Alaska (vampires _loved_ Alaska – it was dark half the year, but also snowy so they didn't have much use for motorcycles; he'd gotten it cheaply), and drove cross-country in two nights. He wasn't tired at all, and even if he had been, seeing the Lightwoods again would have woken him right up.

Grandchildren. Clary had grandchildren. _Teenaged_ grandchildren. The red-head had looked the same age Simon did. Alec had aged a bit, though he wondered if Magnus was finding ways to slow that some, but Clary and Jace looked _old_. Well, not _really_ old. Not nursing home old. But they had gray hair. And married adult children. And grandchildren his age.

Coming back had been a mistake. Not for them; they were glad to see him, he could tell, and the non-aging clearly didn't bother them, Magnus was part of the family after all, but it bothered Simon.

Every time he came back, it was more and more clear that Clary was dying. Not right away, not painfully, but slowly and inexorably. In a few decades, Simon's best, and oldest, friend would be dead.

He wanted to leave, _now_, but he knew he couldn't do that to her. The way her eyes had lit up when she'd seen him, the way she'd launched herself at him and held on so tightly that if he'd been mortal she would have injured him, told him he couldn't go yet.

So he stayed and ate family suppers he didn't digest, played board games with the grandchildren (Shadowhunters had their own version of Monopoly), skulked in a corner and frightened off over-eager boys at Charlotte's birthday party, and spent long evenings in with Clary, talking about everything he'd missed over the years.

She brought him up to date on everything – which demons Jace had slain, how the grandkids were doing with Shadowhunter training, and which family drama was the most memorable. Alec and Magnus' wedding won that one. Simon never understood the full story: something about unauthorized portals (which Clary swore wasn't her fault), an invasion of angry Downworlders who thought Magnus was a traitor, and a curse which temporarily turned Alec into a woman. Magnus had said he didn't give a damn what gender Alec was, and he refused to postpone the wedding. Alec, on the other hand, had refused to leave for the honeymoon until Magnus found a way to turn him back into a man, so they spent their first week of marriage living in separate bedrooms.

Simon hadn't laughed that hard in years, and the longer he stayed at the Institute, the more he found himself opening up and fitting in. He told Clary about how much he missed Maia, and how he wished he'd been able to give her the sort of life she wanted. But he couldn't give her a family, and he'd been afraid of having to watch her die, so they'd agreed to part as friends. She'd invited him to her wedding, and to her daughter's first birthday party, but he hadn't gone. And now she was dead due to some civil war in the pack, and he wished he could have been there for her.

"It's not your fault," said Clary. "What good would it have done to stick around and remind yourself? It wasn't going to work."

"Alec and Magnus have made it work," he said, clenching his fist. "Maybe I just didn't try hard enough."

She put her hand over his fist and squeezed. "Alec and Magnus don't have children – don't _want_ children. Besides, Magnus is a lot older than you. He's been with – and lost – mortals before. You're new at this."

Simon shrugged and didn't talk about Maia again, but he felt better.

Clary felt better too. Jace pulled Simon aside one evening during a marathon session of Monopoly and told him so. "I haven't seen her smile like this in years. She's not unhappy," he said quickly when Simon frowned. "But she misses you. You've been friends since you were children, and it's like a small part of her leaves when you leave." He put his hand on Simon's shoulder. "So, thanks for coming back, bloodsucker." He winked at Simon to let him know he was just teasing, then returned to the game.

Simon felt a mixture of pleasure and guilt. It was nice to know that Clary still needed him in some way, but he felt bad that was going to crush her happiness once he left again.

And he would have to leave again. That was just the way it was. If he stayed in one place for too long, the Mark would start itching. He'd ignored it the first couple times it had happened, but he'd quickly learned that was a mistake. If he ignored the itching, he'd start getting restless. He'd be unable to sleep most nights, and when he did sleep, he was plagued by dreams of things chasing him. Food, even blood, became unsatisfying, until he was constantly hungry, and the hunger and the lack of sleep made him irritable so that he was prone to snapping at anyone who spoke to him. The second time he'd ignored it, he'd nearly attacked Clary's son James, so now he left the moment he started to feel it.

And he was feeling it. He'd lost track of how long he'd been with the Lightwoods, it could have been weeks or years, but one night he woke up with the knowledge that it was time. He had to go, and he had to do it _now_ while everyone was still asleep. Quietly – he'd learned how to move quietly over the years – he packed his things and snuck through the Institute's hallways.

He thought he'd gotten away with it, but a petite red-haired figure was leaning against the grille of the elevator with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

"You weren't even going to say good-bye." It wasn't a question, because even after all these years, she knew him better than anyone.

He tried not to shuffle his feet as he said, "I left a note."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

He shrugged. "It's easier this way. I don't want a big send-off when I leave. I never know if I'll be coming back, so it feels like you're giving me an early funeral." Simon didn't like funerals. A side-effect of having died, he supposed, though he couldn't really remember it.

He thought Clary might argue with him, insist he stay until morning so everyone could see him, but she just nodded. She tipped her face down, trying to hide her expression, but Simon could see in the dark, and he knew she was hurt he hadn't at least wanted to say good-bye to her.

"It's too hard," he said. "If I tell you good-bye, then I start wanting to stay, and we both know I can't."

"We do," she whispered. "But knowing it doesn't make it easier." Then she was in his arms, burying her face in his neck, and he could feel her tears soaking his t-shirt. At moments like this, when it was just the two of them, and her scent was everywhere, it was easy to pretend they were kids again, instead of a grandmother and an eternally teenaged vampire. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her as tightly as he could without crushing her – it still amazed him that he was stronger than her now. He held on as long as he could, but then the Mark started itching again, and he reached up a hand to rub it.

Clary pushed away, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Go," she said. "Go now before I have Jace lock you in your room and carve a Star of David on the door." He gave her one last regret-filled look, then got in the elevator and let it take him to the ground floor.

His motorcycle was parked outside, as if Jace too had known he'd be leaving tonight. He climbed astride it and took one last look at the Institute as it really was before allowing the glamour to cloud his vision. Then he turned his back, and drove away, fully intending to return sometime within the next decade.

He never did.


End file.
